


I Want You to Leave

by Lexus (Beautiful_Ruin)



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sex, F/F, TW: degradation kink, TW: irresponsible bondage, angry Eve, bookverse, brief spanking, desperate Villanelle, seriously mind the trigger warnings, tw: dubcon, tw: name calling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beautiful_Ruin/pseuds/Lexus
Summary: MIND THE TRIGGER WARNINGS, ESPECIALLY THE DEGRADATION KINK. If you do not understand degradation kink, do not read this because you will not enjoy it. And I will not be answering any questions about degradation kinks, because I am telling everyone right now that if you're not into the degradation thing, you'll hate this fic. Don't read it and then complain to me, take the warnings seriously. It's bookverse. It's dubcon. There's extreme degradation. There's name calling. Villanelle is into it, but that's not going to help you like the story if you don't understand the appeal of degradation. (The reason I will not answer any questions when I usually love to answer questions is because of the specific nature of the content of this story. There's no way to explain it and you just won't like it if you don't get it.)THAT SAID, if you do understand it, you'll probably very much enjoy this piece of utter filth.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 58
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're still reading at this point... if you clicked the link after reading the summary... enjoy the ride............................

She touches Eve’s hair. That is her mistake. Because now she is staring into wide, not-terrified eyes. She might as well speak. “Hello, Eve.” She keeps her voice very low.

Eve is experiencing fight or flight and trying so hard to do neither. Either of those options would be deadly, she knows for certain. She grits her teeth and remains otherwise a statue.

“It is so nice to finally meet you,” Villanelle says in that same low voice. “Are we going to shake hands or hug?”

Eve is still and silent for several more minutes, and when this asshole seems willing to wait forever, she makes herself speak. “I want you to leave. Now.”

Eve’s voice. Fuck. She’s momentarily taken aback hearing it for the first time. Then the words register and her eyes narrow the slightest bit. “I am risking a lot to be here, Eve. Don’t be rude.”

Eve is literally about to be sick all over the bed, but she can’t show fear to a predator of this caliber. “Get out.”

Villanelle pouts. “Why? Aren’t you curious about me? You have been a bit... obsessed with me, don’t you think?”

“Why would you think I’m obsessed with you?” Of course Eve is obsessed with her. Who wouldn’t be? But that doesn’t mean she’s going to admit it.

“Well,” Villanelle begins, glancing around the room without moving her head. “You’re here. I think that is a pretty good indicator.” She doesn’t usually speak so much, but Eve is making her chatty. “You are trying so hard to catch me, and now that I am here, you want me to leave. What is that about, Eve?”

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Are you dead?”

“Obviously not.”

“Then obviously not.”

Eve is trying not to get exasperated with a killer. It’s hard. “Why _are_ you here?”

Villanelle helps herself to a seat on the edge of the bed. “I have been watching you.”

“No shit.”

“Eve, so rude,” Villanelle says, scrunching up her nose, but she shakes it off. “I wanted to see you up close.”

“So you could verify the premature wrinkles you’ve given me before you shoot me?”

Villanelle lightly backhands her in the area she presumes to be the hip. “You are funny.”

“Oh,” Eve says, eyebrows both raising. “I’m so glad you think so. You can tell them to put that on my tombstone.”

“Do people really even get tombstones anymore, Eve? I don’t think that is what they are called anymore, at least.” She turns to look at Eve over her shoulder. “I will have them put it in your obituary. Those are still a thing.” She finally sees the shiver of fear she’s wanted so desperately to see, but immediately upon seeing it, she wishes it were never there. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

Eve barks out a laugh before she can stop herself. Villanelle looks wounded, but seriously? Don’t be afraid of a ruthless assassin who can kill as easily as she breathes? “I’m probably always going to be afraid of you. But I’m less afraid of you than the rest of the world is, so that’ll have to do.”

Villanelle takes her shoes off and turns around, pulling one knee up onto the bed and wrapping her hands around her lower leg, leaning forward on them. “I should not have touched your hair.”

Eve blinks. “What?” And then she blinks again and tries to look at her own hair. “You touched my hair? What did you do to it?”

“I stroked it a little,” Villanelle says with a dreamy look that definitely unnerves her.

She keeps trying to look. “You didn’t cut it, did you?”

“Eve!” Villanelle says, eyes wide. “Of course I did not cut it. Your hair is...” She starts to lean forward, intending to bury her face in it.

“Hey, woah. Stop.”

Villanelle stops with their faces a few inches apart. “Let me touch you, Eve.”

“No. Back off.”

Villanelle backs off, but she doesn’t give up.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. _Villanelle_ is hitting on her. In the middle of the night, in a hotel in Shanghai, Villanelle is in her room and is hitting on her.

“I hurt my finger climbing the wall to get in here,” Villanelle says after they just stare at each other for minutes. “Would you give it a kiss?”

Lightning fast movement has Villanelle’s finger pressed against Eve’s lips, but Eve doesn’t move them. It’s not a kiss, by any standard. She pulls back and quickly says, “it’s not bleeding. I don’t see anything.”

Villanelle stretches to reach the pull cord on the lamp and turns it on, then rights herself and shows Eve the tiny bruise on her index finger. “I caught it between two pipes. Would you kiss it? Please?” She offers it again, but this time she’s good and she doesn’t touch Eve’s mouth. She waits.

Eve doesn’t really want to. Maybe it will get Villanelle to leave, though. She grumbles at herself and hesitates a few seconds longer, then rolls her eyes and presses a quick kiss to the tiniest bruise she’s ever seen. “Yes? Okay? Can you leave now and let me go back to sleep?”

Villanelle is giddy and she kisses it herself just after, and closes her eyes, trying to taste Eve. Unfortunately, there is no transfer.

“What are you doing? Go now.”

“I am not leaving, Eve,” Villanelle says, sucking her finger into her mouth. When she’s had enough of that she pulls it back out. “I would like to see your body. I want you to take the sheet off.”

“I’m wearing clothes,” Eve retorts, as if whether she’s naked is the actual issue.

“I would still like to see,” Villanelle says, eyes hooded. She’s grabbed her lower leg again and is watching Eve closely. “Please, Eve?” Her hands itch with the desire to rip the bedclothes away. She grips her leg tighter.

Eve should not be entertaining this. But what was her other option? Try to get to her phone without Villanelle noticing? Not fucking likely. “You’re leaving after this.” She peels back the blankets and shows off her extremely sexy sweatpants and oversized T-shirt.

“I do not want to leave,” Villanelle says, and she takes off her jacket, tossing it to the floor.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Eve warns, reaching for the blankets, but Villanelle pulls them away and drops them off the end of the bed so she can’t cover up. “Don’t be an asshole,” she says. “It’s cold.”

“Do not worry. I will warm you up.”

“You’re not getting in this bed with me.”

“Why not?” Villanelle’s pouting again.

“Because I don’t have a Tinder profile that says ‘looking to cheat on my devoted husband with murdering psychopathic female.”

“It does not have to say all that. It can just say ‘in need of a very good orgasm’.” She can’t resist Eve’s pull any longer. She’s over the other woman on all fours before either of them can blink.

Eve pushes at her chest, but it feels halfhearted.

“Eve. Please.”

“Please what? Get off of me.”

“Eve, I am going to stay right here forever.” She can’t move. Not really. She’s so close to her greatest adversary and greatest desire, and the way Eve smells is paralyzing.

Eve rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll both get hungry.”

“I definitely get hungry after sex.” She licks her lips. It’s involuntary now. Her body wants to do what it wants.

“We’re not having sex.”

“Not yet.”

“Not at all.”

Something in Eve’s voice sounds like she can possibly be persuaded otherwise. “You aren’t curious at all?”

“About sex with you? No.”

Eve is lying. She has to be. Who would not be curious about sex with her? She is beautiful and very sought after. “Everyone wants to fuck me, Eve.”

“Everyone else, maybe.”

But Eve’s hips have shifted. It’s subtle, but Villanelle notices subtleties. Villanelle notices everything. Eve’s nipples are hard, poking at her T-shirt. Her eyes zoom in. “You are excited.”

Eve deflects. “You took the blankets.”

“Eve,” she says, giving a very put-out sigh. “Are you really going to make me beg?”

“Beg if you want, it won’t—” Eve cuts off into a groan because Villanelle has moved a knee in between her legs and pressed against the crotch of her sweatpants.

“You are so beautiful, Eve.”

“I’m straight, Villanelle.”

“Your body doesn’t think so. Your eyes don’t either.”

“Too bad for you then that I think with my brain. Get off me.”

Villanelle wants her too much to back off. “I can’t.” The words are simple but far from simple. “I can’t, Eve. We are like magnets. I am powerless; I am stuck.”

Eve shifts again beneath her and Villanelle feels it. She feels Eve’s cunt press against her knee. It’s exhilarating; it takes her breath. Her head sags forward between her shoulders. _Breathe, Villanelle. Breathe_. In; out. In; out. But she can’t. There’s no air. She gasps when she realizes she’s not breathing, and her lungs fill quickly. She picks up her head and stares at Eve. “You do want it, don’t you?”

It’s not a question. Eve doesn’t owe her an answer.

“I said get OFF me!” Eve shouts, angry now, and she shoves Villanelle as hard as she can. They roll off the bed and grapple on the floor for what seems like ages, with Eve taking a backhand to the jaw and Villanelle taking an elbow to the eye.

Somehow, Eve wins. She’s sat on Villanelle’s hips, with her feet behind her holding Villanelle’s legs to the floor and her hands closed around each of Villanelle’s wrists. Villanelle struggles, so Eve slams her hands into the carpet repeatedly until she stops.

When she thinks Eve will break her fingers, she stops struggling with her arms. But she bucks her hips. “Please, Eve. You drive me mad.”

“You think you don’t drive me mad? You’ve been driving me fucking insane, Villanelle!” Eve shouts.

It hurts her ears and Eve slams her hands again even though she’s not fighting, and she’s got rug burns singed across the backs of her fingers and wrists. She hisses, but she enjoys the pain. “Show me how I’ve been driving you mad. Show me how bad I am, Eve.”

Eve brings a knee up to press to her throat and chokes her until she blacks out.

***

The first thing Villanelle is aware of when she regains consciousness is a tightness in her wrists. The second thing is that she can’t move them. The third is that she’s not wearing her boots. Or her socks. Or—fuck, she’s naked. She opens her eyes. Eve is standing right in front of her, still in that hideous sweatpant and T-shirt combo that Villanelle would rather die than be caught in. She glances upward and her jaw drops. Slowly she returns her gaze to Eve. “Eve, you cannot tie someone up with _shoelaces_. They are too thin, they will chafe, and they will pull too tightly. You will not be able to untie them very well. This is a breach of kinky ethics.”

Eve doesn’t move or acknowledge her words. “Look at you,” she snarls. “It’s pathetic. Breaking in here when you should be nowhere near me... you’ve lost your edge. Makes me wonder if you ever had one or if you’ve just been getting lucky.”

Oh... Eve is _angry_. Villanelle’s nostrils flare. Something sparks low in her belly and she can’t respond. She just stares.

“You should be out of the country by now... but you couldn’t resist, could you? Because you’re cocky and stupid. Look what you’ve fucked yourself into now.”

Villanelle is surprised Eve is speaking to her like this. The spark in her belly starts to ooze. She’s... she’s getting wet. Eve is insulting her, and she’s getting wet.

Eve steps closer. “If you were any good at anything, I’d already be dead. But you’re not, are you? You’re useless.”

Villanelle feels that directly in her cunt. Her nipples are achingly hard. She’s not sure whether she hopes for Eve to notice or not. “Maybe I don’t want you dead,” she whispers.

Eve’s face tells her that is the wrong response.

“Because you’re a whore at heart, aren’t you? You don’t want me dead because you’re _horny_. You thought you’d come in here and seduce me, get what you want, and then kill me. But the problem is, sweetheart, that I don’t want you.”

“That’s not true, Eve.” _God_ , she’s so wet. No one speaks to her this way. It is so devastatingly arousing she is not sure how much longer she can withstand it. But what choice does she have? She is tied up, naked, and her people do not know where she is. Unless they track her phone, which is—she looks around—smashed into tiny pieces and melted, in a pile on top of her... shredded clothes. Well. Fuck.

“It’s true,” Eve says. “You use your body to manipulate people, and they’re too charmed by you to notice. But it’s not that great, is it? Or I’d want you.”

Villanelle sucks in a sharp breath. That hurts. But it just makes her want more. More insults, more sneers, more disdain. _More_. And at the same time, it makes her desperate for Eve to say something kind.

Kind. Has anyone ever been kind to her? Not really. She doesn’t deserve kindness. She wonders if Eve will kill her. The only reason Eve might not is because she doesn’t yet know about Simon. If she knew about Simon, Villanelle would already have lost her life, or at the very least her freedom.

...in a different way than being tied up and degraded. She would be in a prison cell or a deep, dark hole underneath MI6.

“There is nothing about my body you like?” She fishes for a compliment. Or sets herself up for a stunning blow. Strangely, she anticipates either with equal fervor.

Eve looks her over with agonizing slowness. “What’s special about it?” she asks with an unimpressed shrug. Just one shoulder, she shrugs. Villanelle doesn’t even get both.

Villanelle presses her lips together. “A lot of people like my tits.”

“Are they men? Men like all tits.”

“Women too.”

Eve shrugs again. Still one shoulder.

“Maybe it is more the way I use it that they like,” Villanelle suggests. “I could show you...”

Eve laughs and backs up, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You really are pathetic. You think I want to see you masturbate?”

Villanelle’s face burns with shame. It is unfamiliar and powerful. Her nipples ache they’re so stiff and she is afraid she will start dripping down her thighs. “Why am I naked otherwise?”

“So you know who’s in control. You have nothing but yourself. No clothes, no phone, no money, no transportation...”

“My transportation? You dismantled my transportation? How would you even know which was mine?” Villanelle says with a snort of disbelief.

“You arrogant fucking idiot,” Eve says, laughing again, and she’s off the bed, close to Villanelle. Too close. They’re almost touching at the hips and face. “You think you can smell like expensive perfume the way you do and not leave a scent trail? A rookie beat cop could have tracked down that bike.”

Villanelle tries to rear back from the assessment but she’s already flat against the wall. “Eve, please. I came here because—”

“Oh my God,” Eve interrupts, eyes flicking down to her chest. “Is this—are you getting off on this?”

“No,” Villanelle hisses. A lie among lies. Her entire life is a lie, isn’t it? If you look close enough.

“I’m standing here insulting your body and your abilities and your work, and it’s getting you off? Jesus Christ!” Eve shouts, angry again, and she makes fists as she paces away from the wall.

But Villanelle can sense the shifting tide. Something has just changed. Eve sounds angry again, but Villanelle can hear beyond that. Beyond the shouting to a quiet place where she affects Eve as much as Eve affects her. “Yes,” she says, carefully. “I am sorry that disappoints you.”

Eve’s fists clench harder and she tries not to react. But she turns back and approaches Villanelle again, fingers now itching to touch her. “It does,” she says, voice low. “It does disappoint me. It disappoints me that instead of a world-renowned assassin who would never let herself be caught, I’m face to face with a dirty little slut.”

Villanelle moans. She can’t help it. God, she can’t help it. Eve’s words knot her up inside and wring her out, pulsing in her cunt and nearly blinding her with need. “I am,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Eve yells, closer, closer, closer, and she slams her hands against the wall on either side of Villanelle’s face. “You’re sorry? How sorry are you? And for what?”

Villanelle can scarcely breathe she’s so keyed up. “I’m s—I’m so sorry,” she stutters, her face burning with a fresh round of shame. “I am so, so sorry for being a useless whore, Eve,” she whispers, casting her eyes to the floor. “Use me, please.”

“It’s all you’re good for, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Villanelle moans again, but more subtly this time. “It is all I am good for,” she agrees. “I am sorry.”

Eve walks away and gets something from her suitcase, and before Villanelle knows it her wrists are free from the wall and she falls to her knees. She’s still bound, but she can bring her bound hands in front of her now. She groans as blood rushes back into her arms.

Eve grabs Villanelle by the hair and drags her carelessly to the bed, throwing her over the edge of it. “I didn’t want to fuck you,” she growls. “I _don’t_ really want to fuck you. But what else am I supposed to do with a useless whore?”

Villanelle is breathing hard, wondering for a second how this night had gone so horribly wrong. It was because she couldn’t control herself and she’d just had to touch Eve’s hair. This was her fault. “I couldn’t control myself,” she admits, her cunt throbbing. “I am so dirty, Eve, so hopeless, such a slut that I could not keep my hands to myself and I woke you...” Fuck. Why does it feel so good to say these things? She knows her face is bright red with humiliation, but it just makes her so much fucking hotter.

She yells as Eve’s hand comes down hard on her exposed ass.

“Pathetic little cunts get punished,” Eve says.

Villanelle presses her face into the mattress. Eve slaps her again, and it hurts, and it’s embarrassing.

“Look what you’ve made me do now,” Eve continues, and her voice is a low drawl. She hits Villanelle again. “Coming in here and waking me up from a perfectly good sleep.” Another crack of her hand. “Useless little fucking asshole.”

Eve is hitting her very hard and she’s so, so hot and she’s so, so embarrassed and she’s so, so wet, and she’s crying. She gets spanked several more times and then she can feel Eve lean over her; feel a hand wound into her hair.

“You are not important, do you understand? You mean nothing. Your work, your murders, they mean nothing. To me, to anyone. Do you fucking understand?”

Eve is speaking softly but her words roll through Villanelle like thunder. “Yes, Eve, yes... I am nothing. I cannot do anything right. Thank you for taking the time to punish me and let me know this.”

“You’ll just take whatever scraps I give you, won’t you?” Eve says with a sneer. “So fucking desperate.”

Villanelle is desperate. More desperate than she has ever been, for anything. “Yes, Eve. I am sorry. I am sorry you are wasting your time with me. I am not worth it.”

“No,” Eve says. “You’re not.” And she feels a sudden, strange sense of affection and strokes Villanelle’s hair. “Up on your knees and elbows if you want any more scraps.”

“Yes,” Villanelle says, and she’s still crying, moving into the position Eve wants her in, her shameful level of arousal now on full display. “Thank you, Eve,” she sniffles, turning her face to wipe her eyes on her shoulder.

Eve hauls off and smacks her ass again. “Don’t thank me. You can apologize all you want, but don’t fucking thank me. Ever.”

Villanelle cries out and buries her face again. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Eve, I’m sorry I am so awful, I’m sorry you have to punish me, I’m sorry for wanting anything!” And God, does she want everything. She’s fucking wrecked. She doesn’t even feel like the same person who climbed the side of the hotel and slipped into this room. The person who kills for a living. The person who nearly beheaded a man earlier tonight. The person who thought she would get the best of Eve Polastri. She has never been more wrong.

Eve grabs a handful of hair with her left hand and moves her right between soaked thighs. “I’ve never fucked a woman before but you’re not gonna complain, are you?”

“No,” Villanelle gasps, shaking her head. “Never. Never, Eve, never.” She moans unabashedly as she feels Eve’s hand between her legs. She’s already halfway to coming without having been touched.

Eve sinks three fingers inside to the hilt, savoring the tightness.

Villanelle shouts and grinds her hips down, seeking more, always seeking more, and she’s ashamed because it’s so filthy but she just fucking _wants_ it.

“Tell me again how bad you are,” Eve says, but her voice is gentler and she curls her fingers, pressing against Villanelle’s g-spot and enjoying the resulting shudder.

Tears continue to stream down her face as she grunts with the pleasure of it all. “I am so bad, Eve,” she says hoarsely. “I am so awful and useless and filthy, and—and—” It’s hard to talk when Eve starts moving her fingers in and out at a bruising pace. “Ohh, and I’m—I am—ohhh, Eve, fuck... I am such a whore, I am complete trash, I—oh I’m close, Eve, oh God, please, I am so close... I need it, I need it! I am spoiled and greedy and—and—” She stops talking when Eve swipes her clit and squeezes with all three fingers, because she explodes. She fucking explodes. Every nerve ending in her body explodes. There’s nothing left of her when the orgasm is through with her but a sweaty, sobbing mess. And she is not a woman who cries.

She curls into a ball on her side when Eve’s hand withdraws and prepares for the worst. Gentle fingers prying her mouth open are not what she had expected, but she parts her lips to accept them and sucks them clean, dutifully and with precision. When the fingers disappear, she lays crying for a while, and Eve lets her. The tears finally slow enough for her to speak. “Will you call MI6?” Her voice is a shadow of itself.

Eve tosses one of her burner phones onto the bed and cuts the ropes from Villanelle’s chafed wrists. “No. Don’t make me regret it.”

She almost says thank you but remembers Eve’s words. “I am sorry,” she says instead. “I am sorry for—”

“Stop,” Eve says.

Suddenly Eve is sitting beside her. She rubs at her wrists as she waits to see if Eve will say more.

Eve struggles with it. “Come here,” she finally says. “Put your head in my lap, I want to speak to you.”

Confused but willing, Villanelle slides over and lays her head in Eve’s lap. She almost bolts upright when fingers comb through her hair. “What—”

“Quiet.”

She quiets. Too many thoughts are rolling through her head. She’s compromised. The Twelve are going to have her killed. Will she see Eve again? Does she want to see Eve again? (Yes.) Has she ever been debased like this before? (No.) Does she want it to happen again? (God, yes. Nothing has ever made her wetter.) After she’s done with these thoughts, Eve is still playing with her hair. It feels very domestic.

“You let me treat you unforgivably,” Eve says after a minute or so. “It was exhilarating. Your darkness may be catching.”

“Why do you say that, Eve?”

“Because I want to do it again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So everything I'm working on currently is super soft and I felt like writing filth so I added a chapter to this.

They don’t see each other for at least six months.

Six months, two weeks and three days, actually, if someone were counting. Which Villanelle isn’t.

She is flushing the toilet when she hears the click of a safety behind her and doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s Eve. Eve is the only person to ever get the drop on her and Eve will be the only person _ever_ to get the drop on her.

Despite the casual smirk on her lips, her heart thuds against her rib cage and her pulse flares in her ears; her skin goes hot and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Eve,” she says, trying to sound suave. She still hasn’t turned around.

“Hands on your head,” Eve barks.

“Eve, you should know by now that I w—”

“Hands on your head,” Eve barks again.

Villanelle sighs dramatically and clasps her hands together on the crown of her head. “This is a very rude greeting. Especially for someone who broke into my flat. The least you could do is say hello…”

“On your knees,” Eve says instead.

“Unlikely,” Villanelle says, and the moment she speaks, Eve fires a shot that whizzes right past her ear and embeds itself in her stucco.

Eyes wide, she spins and advances, knowing Eve won’t actually shoot her, or at least somewhat confident that Eve won’t actually shoot her.

Instead of shooting Villanelle or letting her get the gun, Eve quickly releases the cartridge and tosses it out the open bathroom window, then tucks the weapon away in the waist of her jeans.

Villanelle notices the jeans at that moment and stops her advance. “Jeans, Eve? What happened to frumpy old sweat pants or joggers?”

“I guess you haven’t been watching me for awhile,” Eve says, and Villanelle marvels at how smooth her voice is.

“I guess I’ve been too busy to bother,” Villanelle says with a tiny sneer.

Eve laughs. “You mean you couldn’t find me,” she says, and Villanelle hates that it’s true.

“Maybe I wasn’t looking.” It sounds pathetic even to her. “Why are you here?”

Eve backs out of the bathroom, keeping one eye on Villanelle as she maneuvers to the sofa and sits down, rather heavily in Villanelle’s opinion. Something is wrong.

Eve must be too tired for bullshit because she gets right to it. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

This news comes as a pleasant surprise and Villanelle tries not to let her glee show on her face. “I am fascinating,” she says confidently instead. “Why would you be able to stop thinking about me?”

“Villanelle,” Eve deadpans. She shakes her head. “I can’t stop thinking about hurting you. Fucking you. Humiliating you.”

This is even more unexpected than the previous confession and Villanelle’s stomach clenches in reflex, pushing wetness between her legs. What can she say to that?

She says nothing. She carefully walks to the sofa and sits on the end opposite Eve. Waiting for Eve’s next move.

Eve looks at her, expression almost pained. “You have nothing to say to that? You’re not gonna tell me to fuck off or get out of your flat?”

Villanelle avoids the intent of the question with a generic answer. “I would never tell you to get out of my flat. I like having you here, Eve.”

She watches something shift. Something intangible, but she can still see it and feel it. Hear it. Smell it. Taste it.

“You’re pathetic, aren’t you? So starved for attention you’ll take it in any form.”

Villanelle’s cunt spasms and she thinks the game has just begun.

“You like having me here? Me, who thinks so little of you and can’t stand to be around you for more than five minutes a year?”

Villanelle is hesitant to answer in any way. If she doesn’t answer, will Eve escalate? Or will she risk Eve shutting down and leaving? People like Eve are so unpredictable. “It was over an hour the last time,” she finally says, her voice somewhere between soft and defiant.

Eve closes the distance between them and slaps her.

The stinging rebuke is somehow like a balm to Villanelle’s soul and she lets out a little hum. “Ow.” She offers a token protest.

“You think that hurts?” Eve asks, eyebrow lifting.

“A little,” Villanelle purrs. “I liked it.”

Eve’s lightning fast; she grabs one of Villanelle’s hands and brings it to her crotch. There’s no hiding her surprise this time and Villanelle’s jaw drops as she feels the heat Eve is packing.

“Fuck.” The word is out before she can stop it.

Eve lets go of her hand. “You think you’re gonna get my dick? You think I’m gonna let my dick inside some trashy whore from the Russia slums?”

Villanelle’s hands start to go clammy and her breathing picks up. She hadn’t known how badly she wanted Eve’s dick until this exact moment, and now it’s going to be all she can think of until she gets it. “I want it,” she says simply. “I want your dick, Eve.”

“I know you do,” Eve says, eyes narrowed. “On your knees.”

This time Villanelle does what she’s told. She slides to her knees on the floor, her cheeks burning at the thought of her colleagues or employers seeing her like this. Though really she wouldn’t have time to be embarrassed because any one of them would put a bullet straight through her head. The only reason she hadn’t been taken out already was because Eve kept her mouth shut about Shanghai and no one found out. It was easy enough to say she’d melted her own cell phone and tanked her own transport because she’d needed to be off the grid, and without anyone to contradict her story, no one had been the wiser.

This, though, if they could see her now… she’d be dead.

“Get your fucking mouth open.”

Villanelle opens her mouth. She watches as Eve frees the dick from her jeans and grimaces at the forceful hand suddenly wound into her hair, holding her back when she tries to lean forward. She whines and Eve slaps her, so she quiets.

“This is your fault,” Eve says, and her face looks a mixture of confusion and resignation. “It’s your fault I keep thinking about this. It’s your fault I can’t sleep at night because I want to feel your skin under my hands and hear your pretty little whimpers. It’s your fault I’m distracted at work thinking about how bad you are; how much you like it when I say horrible things to you. It’s _your_ fault.” Eve practically hisses the last bit. They’re both quiet for a moment and then Eve speaks again. “Tell me how bad you are, Villanelle. _Tell_ me how everything is your fault.”

Villanelle is going to unravel as fast as she did the last time, and she hates it. She hates it so much. She wants to be cool and blasé and make Eve work for it, but she can’t. It’s too much. “It’s my fault,” she says immediately, face flushing. “Everything is my fault because I’m so bad… I can’t help how much I want you and how bad it makes me… I’m sorry, Eve. Please let me suck your cock…”

Eve’s hips shift but she doesn’t let Villanelle any closer to the dick. “Did I say anything about letting you suck my cock?”

“No,” Villanelle says, shaking her head the best she can within Eve’s iron grip. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t. I’m sorry, Eve, please.” She can feel herself getting desperate already. Her mouth is watering and she’s soaked her underwear to an uncomfortable degree and _how_ does Eve do this to her?

“I said I wanted to hurt you, Villanelle. Do you think I’m gonna let you get this wet? To make it easier to take?”

Villanelle’s breath hitches and she shakes her head again. “No,” she says, swallowing past tightened throat muscles.

“Whores don’t need lube, do they, Villanelle?” Eve asks, jerking on her hair.

Villanelle groans, she can’t help it, and she takes the slap in stride. “No, Eve, whores don’t need lube.” Her cheek is starting to throb from the repeated blows and she sits back on her heels so she’s not tempted to do anything at all.

“Get up. Underwear off.”

Villanelle gets shakily to her feet and reaches under her skirt to remove her panties, tossing them aside, and takes a step toward Eve.

It’s a mistake.

Eve growls like a wild animal and she’s on her feet, forcing Villanelle over the back of the sofa, tearing her skirt off of her body and grabbing handfuls of her ass, spreading her open and pushing the cock into her dripping cunt without warning.

It’s big, but she’s so wet it doesn’t hurt, and she’s about to be smug when the cock disappears from her cunt and pushes into her ass.

She yells, the smugness vanished before it could even take hold, because _that_ hurts.

And still, she doesn’t want Eve to stop.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Eve snaps. “Every time you get comfortable, I’ll do something you don’t expect.”

“I’m sorry,” Villanelle gasps, tears stinging her eyes. “I won’t get comfortable.”

“You don’t deserve to get comfortable.”

“No,” Villanelle agrees. “I know I don’t deserve to get comfortable, I’m sorry, Eve, please forgive me…” _What_? What is she fucking saying? This is outrageous. How much longer is she going to put up with this before she takes care of the problem? Of her weakness? She needs to take Eve ou—

Eve strokes a hand across her sweaty hair and eases the cock out of her ass. “I forgive you. Take this and go give it a wash, and I might let you suck it.”

As soon as she hears the words ‘I forgive you’, all thoughts of taking Eve out disappear from her mind and she’s embarrassingly pliant again, doing Eve’s bidding, giving the toy a thorough wash and bringing it back without speaking. Hoping that if she’s quiet and obedient she’ll get another scrap of affection. Because as hot as it makes her when Eve degrades her, it affects her even more when Eve says or does something kind.

She watches Eve fit herself back into the strap and her knees wobble when Eve starts stroking it with one lazy hand. She hears herself make a noise that she tries to choke back once it’s out, but Eve doesn’t seem to have heard.

“How badly do you want to suck this?” Eve’s voice is cold again. No, not cold.

Hot.

Scalding.

“Badly,” she confesses.

“ _How_ badly?”

She doesn’t know how to answer, exactly. “ _Very_ badly, Eve.”

Eve shakes her head; Villanelle feels judged.

“What are you willing to put up with in exchange for being allowed to suck my dick?”

Villanelle falters because she doesn’t know the scope of the question. “I don’t know. I—I don’t know what’s on the table.”

“You need some examples? Aren’t you supposed to be the worldly one of the two of us?”

Villanelle’s face burns again… in that ridiculous aroused way.

“Would you let me cut you?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere I want.”

“Anywhere but my face.”

“And if I only want to cut your face?”

“Then I will not get to suck your dick.” Even saying those words aloud gives her a pang of regret, the thought she may not get to suck Eve’s cock. But her face is her most precious feature; there is no room for compromise. Her face is beautiful; elegant; pristine. Her face has made so many assassinations easier for the mere fact that beauty is disarming.

“Hm.” Eve appears to consider. “Would you beg?”

“Yes.” This she says without hesitation. She will beg, she already knows she will. She would beg Eve for less. She would beg Eve for a smile.

“Would you kill?”

Eve asks this like she expects a quick ‘yes’ or ‘of course’. But this question is not so black and white. “Whom?”

“Seriously? You kill for a living and I ask if you’d kill in exchange for something you’ve said you want _very_ badly, and the answer is ‘whom’?”

“Yes,” Villanelle says with a brief nod. “Whom?”

Eve looks annoyed. “One of your associates.”

“Which one?”

Now Eve is definitely annoyed. “I don’t give a fuck. I just hypothetically want a body to deliver to MI6. An authentic one. Hypothetically.”

“Okay, if I get to choose, then yes.”

Eve starts stroking the cock again and Villanelle’s eyes are glued to the motion. Wetness stirs and gathers, and she shifts her weight. She realizes she’s standing in nothing but a blouse and being so exposed makes her abdominal muscles clench hard.

“Are you going to fuck me?” she asks, impatient.

It’s the wrong move.

Eve unbuckles the harness and lets the cock fall to the floor. And then she literally climbs out the window, and Villanelle goes over to watch her descend the fire escape. “Wait!” she calls, but if Eve hears her she doesn’t show it, because ten seconds later she’s gone.

Villanelle doesn’t know whether to scream or laugh or cry, so she basically does some form of all three and then gets dressed to kill.


End file.
